Paladine
“I see.”
“So it goes like this, Garcia. I’m the director of the National Counterterrorism Center. We know what happened at Indian Point and are in a superior position to report the facts.”
“You’ve got nothing on me.”
“Except for killing Najjar.”
“Never mind the fact that you would have done it yourself and I saved you the trouble, it was classic self-defense. That crazy bastard tried to smash my head in with a two-by-four.”
“What would have motivated him to do that?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you go to hell and ask him yourself?”
“Now, listen here, smartass. The evidence you claim we won’t find against you, we will find it alright, and it’ll put you right there at Indian Point among your comrades. One of them who’s barely alive I’m sure will take great pleasure in identifying you.”
“Knock yourself out.”
“We can’t have you out there anymore, running around, killing terrorists on American soil.”
“I told you it was self-defense.”
Anderson’s face reddened. “God damn it, I’m not talking about Najjar and you know it! We’re going to give you an offer you can’t refuse. You’ll have only two options.”
“Are you Don Corleone or Monty Hall?”
Anderson ignored Robert’s pun and barreled on. “Go to prison for the rest of your life or work for us offshore. If you work for us, you’ll get full immunity for all your crimes.”
“Except Phoenix,” Samuels interrupted.
“Oh, yeah, there’s a detective in Phoenix with a hard-on for you. We couldn’t convince him to go along with the offer. But if you sign with us, you’ll be so deep undercover he’ll never find you.”
“I already told Wokowski here what you could do with your offer. Don’t you remember?”
“Maybe you’d better think long and hard about this before you snap back with a stupid answer like that.”
“Maybe I should see my lawyer.”
The doctor came back in, signaling that the interview was over by making a “cut” sign with his hand against his throat.
“You have 24 hours to decide. Agent Wokowski will leave you his number. Give him your decision before the time is up.”
Anderson stormed out of the room. Wokowski put a business card on the tray next to Robert’s bed and walked out with Samuels.
Robert thought again of his last thought in the struggle with Najjar. He should have used a gun.
CHAPTER FIFTY ONE
Jason Maynard’s television was on as he ate a frozen TV dinner, listening to the news reports of the foiled attack on the Indian Point Energy Center in New York.
Highly trained security guards foiled a commando-style attempt by a group of heavily armed terrorists this morning at the Indian Point Nuclear Power Plant in Upstate New York. Had the two reactors been compromised, it could have caused contamination as far away as New York City. Reports are just coming in, but a spokesman for the New York State Police says 19 terrorists and 12 security guards were killed in the siege.
Maynard didn’t believe the reports for a second. He wrote them off as stories planted by the government to control public perception. They didn’t want anyone to know just how vulnerable critical facilities like nuclear and chemical plants really were and how faulty their security was. The Internet had its own take on the story and was already attributing the foiled attack to Paladine.
Maynard got on the phone to Wokowski, but was put into voice mail, so he left a message to call him back. They had claimed to have Robert Garcia in custody and wanted Joshua to go along with a ridiculous offer to give him immunity for the Phoenix murder. But they didn’t mention anything about the nuclear plant attack. Maybe they had gone ahead and made their deal with Garcia without him.
Finally, on a rainy, muddy day in Phoenix, Maynard was able to connect with the agent in Washington.
“So whatever happened to the Garcia case?”
There was an uncomfortable pause on the bureaucratic end, then, “We’ve closed that case. Couldn’t find any evidence to pin him to any of the murders.”
“Sounds like you’ve stopped trying all of a sudden.”
“What’s there to do? We’re happy there’s no more vigilantes running around killing terrorists.”
“And what about Garcia?”
“What about him? Maybe he’s dead.”
Reluctantly, Joshua moved on, but he would never stop working on the Garcia case and monitoring it for new developments. He kept up the visitations with his children and tried to be less obsessive about his work. That proved to be very difficult for him at times, but he knew he had to straighten out his priorities. Since splitting up with Cynthia, the kids had already grown and his son had grown apart from him. He made himself a “no work” policy during his weekends with the children, and only broke it once in a while.
Joshua took Erica to her dance classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays after work, and took Jim to soccer practice on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. He had made up his mind to be as good a visiting father as he was a policeman, even though the challenges for the former seemed overwhelming at times.
CHAPTER FIFTY TWO
In the days after the attack, left-wing politicians stepped up on their soapboxes and belied their right-wing opposition’s claims that the United States was safe from terrorist attacks. The conservatives, whether they were elephants or donkeys, claimed that the fact the people were safe had been proven by the foiled Indian Point siege. The media reported the one-month anniversary of the attack, which gave the leaders another opportunity to tout their prowess, but after that, the incident was filed away in the public’s memory banks until it eventually faded like it had been attacked by Alzheimer’s disease. People went to work, paid their bills, had sex, fought with their spouses, and life went on.
The Paladine legend eventually faded into oblivion, like every urban fad had before it. The market for Paladine action figures had dried up, but not Joshua Maynard’s interest in the case. Like the bloodhound he was, he kept following up on the only leads he had. When Maynard followed up on the only viable lead – the pet kennel in Las Vegas – they reported that the dog had not been claimed and had been sent to the pound.
***
Nathan Anderson received a pat on the back from the president, but recognition for the fiction he had concocted to cover up the attack on Indian Point wasn’t what he really wanted. His agency was still as impotent as it ever was and he didn’t see it becoming any more effective in the future. He continued to fight for the implementation of the changes called for in the Congressional Report, but, after the memory of the attack had faded, other priorities took a front seat over the War on Terror. Russia was the big enemy now. Fighting a foe of that magnitude called for massive defense expenditures.
The president did promise, however, to personally oversee the NCTC program and work with the other agencies to foster “cohesion and cooperation.” He had made a lot of promises during the final part of his term, all empty, while he dreamed of golf and the good life that would be after his term was over. His work would then be what he enjoyed the most – public speaking – which would be more lucrative than being in office ever was.
CHAPTER FIFTY THREE
The cable cars were running the day Bryce Williamson threw his final punch against the Big C. People were streaming over the bridges into the city by the bay and scurrying along the sidewalks, heading for jobs, important business meetings, breakfast rendezvous – everyone was in a hurry to get somewhere. The markets in Chinatown had opened early before the fog had lifted when Bryce Williamson had taken his last breath. Life went on without missing a beat – or Williamson.
Bryce didn’t want a funeral service. Pursuant to his last requests, his body was cremated and the urn buried in an unmarked grave with no graveside ceremony. His foundation, however, continued to exist in perpetuity, even without Paladine. Bryce’s money lived on to pester politicians
into promoting more effective ways to battle terrorism at home and abroad and provided grants to education programs in local mosques.
The few remaining employees at Bryce’s home office pitched together to box up his personal belongings for charity. They were sad at his passing, but he had lived a full life and had not suffered long in the last days. Rationalization always seemed to justify death if the person was perceived to have had a “good life.” When the movers came for the last stack of boxes, Jessica smiled at them.
“Is that it, ma’am?”
She paused, choked, put her fist to her lips, then replied, “Yes, yes, it’s finished. Thank you.”
They nodded and started to leave with the load of boxes.
“Wait.”
The two men stopped and turned their heads, one with a look of curiosity on his face. Jessica pulled two fifty dollar bills out of her purse and gave one to each man.
A hush fell over the office after everyone else had left. Jessica spent her last hour of hire packing the things from her own desk. As she did, she reflected on the ten years she had worked for Bryce. He had always been good to her. A single tear escaped from the corner of her eye and ran down her cheek.
CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR
Las Vegas was an unforgiving town, a transient town. Whenever Virginia had succeeded in making a friend, the friend would invariably leave town, the result of a failed opportunity in Vegas or the appearance of another one elsewhere. She hadn’t met any new men after Julio. She never really had the opportunity to get to know the strange man or figure out why she was so attracted to him, but she sometimes wondered what had become of him.
She felt lucky to have her job, as boring as it could be sometimes. It kept her hands busy and she liked talking to people. For her customers, the DMV was not a place where they preferred to spend their time. The challenge to Virginia was to pull a smile or two out of them with some friendly conversation, to make an otherwise unpleasant day a little more bearable.
She spent her off-time at home reading, speaking with her mother by telephone, and going to the gym to stay in shape.
On a cold winter afternoon, Virginia arrived home from work. She got out of her car, wrapped her scarf tightly around her neck as it blew in the icy wind, and walked a quick pace to her apartment, fishing in her purse for the keys as she scurried along. She stopped at the mailbox quickly and pulled out what could only be a stack of bills and junk mail, and headed upstairs to her apartment.
She escaped from the chilly gusts of wind through the door to her home and shed her jacket. Warm at last! Virginia threw down her purse, plopped on the couch and began looking through the junk mail. As she sorted through the bills, leaving them unopened for payday, she noticed an envelope from the John Williamson Foundation to Fight Terrorism. Thinking it to be another call for a charitable donation which she could ill afford because she had already committed herself to too many, she almost threw it into the wastebasket. But her curiosity got the better of her and she opened it up and her eyes opened wide at the contents – a check, made out to her, for five hundred thousand dollars. Virginia fell back on the divan with her hand against her heart, and looked at the check again to make sure it wasn’t one of those phony sweepstakes checks. Why was she chosen for this gift? She had nothing to do with fighting terrorism. That thought was immediately replaced by dreams of the life that money could make possible. Thank God she wasn’t a gambler!
CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE
It was the city that time had forgotten since the Crusades. A city with no running water. That was provided by the ISIS water tankers and was used for drinking and preparing meals. With no gas, cooking became a historical artifact. Bathing was an unheard of luxury. The electricity worked a few minutes every day, if the residents were lucky. The heads of the statues in Naeem Square had been knocked off. Human heads from public executions adorned the tops of the fences in their place. In the square, stoning, beheading and crucifixion had become a normal occurrence. Many of the city’s historical structures had been destroyed by ISIS. Many of the others had been bombed into oblivion. This was Raqqa, the proud capital of the Islamic State.
Outside the city, in a secret safe-house, Abdul-Fattah Zamani, the head of the ISIS immigration committee, responsible for smuggling fighters across the Turkish border into Syria, sipped his tea as he made notes for his meeting with Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi.
Outside, a convoy of pickup trucks full of fighters with mounted machine guns and an armored Humvee pulled up. It was Zamani’s ride. As an assistant packed up his things, he rose and went to the window to look outside. That was usually someone else’s job, but he never trusted it to chance. It only took one second to check. Seeing that everything was clear, he breathed a sigh of relief.
The shot was followed a fraction of a second later by the tinkling sound of the glass window being penetrated by a bullet. Zamani grasped at his throat in a futile attempt to stop the pressure flow of arterial blood and fell to the floor. His assistants came to his aid. One ran outside and screamed for a medic. The fighters in his convoy came to life and began shooting wildly into the distance.
Robert Garcia left his Dragunov SVD sniper rifle on its bipod and slipped out of the half destroyed, abandoned house. He walked along the streets at a regular pace, blending into the crowd of villagers in broad daylight. At the corner, he calmly opened the door of a waiting pickup which took him away from the village and on to another assignment. Robert reached back into the back seat to the big dummy sitting back there, panting from the heat and whining with glee to see him. He scratched him behind the ears and smiled.
AFTERWORD
When I began this novel, it was supposed to be my attempt to write a “normal” assassination thriller. However, when I got into the research I was shocked. I knew there had to be radicalized jihadists living in the United States because the FBI has arrested many of them in sting operations.[3] [4] However, there is evidence, readily available from Internet sources, that Sheik Mubarak Ali Jilani, a sheik from Pakistan, a suspected terrorist the US government alleges is the founder of the terrorist organization, Jamaat ul-Fuqra[5], is also the founder of Muslims of America, Inc. (MOA).[6] which has been accused of establishing jihad training compounds in the states which are classified by law enforcement as “classically structured terrorist cells.” [7] A storage locker maintained by ul Fuqra in Colorado Springs was raided by local police in 1989, who found a cache of firearms, grenades, plastic explosives and target practice silhouettes labeled “Zionist Pig” and “FBI Anti-Terrorist Squad.”[8][9][10][11]
Claims have been made by the anti-Islamic group, Christian Action Network[12] that the MOA trains men and women to be jihadists and to take action upon Gilani’s order.[13] Reports by the Anti-Defamation League indicate that the group’s emails and websites have featured writings by anti-Semites and Holocaust deniers and advocates jihadist violence.[14]
The National Counterterrorism Center (NCTC) was established in 2004 to serve as the primary organization in collecting and analyzing all intelligence pertaining to terrorism possessed or acquired by the US government.[15] However, according to a 2011 Congressional Report, it could be more effective.
“Arguably most important, however, is the capability of ensuring that analysts are integrated into the counterterrorism effort, that operational planning is shared with analytical offices so that particular reactions or threats can be anticipated and assessed. The most important “wall” may not be the one that existed between law enforcement and intelligence agencies prior to 2001, but the one that often persists between analysts and operators. The latter may lack the time and opportunity to integrate analytical efforts into their ongoing work, but if the country is aiming for a “zero defects” approach to terrorism, close attention to intelligence is a prerequisite. Some experienced observers maintain that “zero defects” is unrealizable, some failures are inevitable and argue that it is more responsible to minimize failures and limit their effects. The use of intelligence b
y policymakers and military commanders is in largest measure the responsibility of the Executive Branch, but some observers argue that the quality of analysis may be enhanced when analytical efforts are regularly reviewed by congressional committees and hearings are conducted to ensure that they are properly prepared and fully used.”[16]
President Obama held a briefing with his national security team at the NCTC in December 2015[17] but it was a largely symbolic measure, resulting in no change in policy.
There is a growing threat from the so-called “lone-wolf” attacks, such as we have seen in Nice on July 14, 2016 and other parts of Europe, but there are also jihadists recruiters for the Islamic State, Al-Qaeda, Hamas and Nusra using social media to connect with potential jihadists for financing and soldiering right here in the United States.[18]
What is alarming is that most of the recruits are young people; many of them teenagers.[19] The turbulent teenage years are known for philosophical reflectiveness on the meaning of life (or lack thereof). Despair and even suicide is a common solution that some young people resort to instead of facing their problems. ISIS has tapped into these feelings of Muslim youths, some of whom have bought in to their propaganda and go on to serve the Islamic State by fighting in Syria, or answering the call to kill infidels in their own backyard. Suddenly, suicide becomes a more complicated problem, with often more than one victim.
While enforcement efforts are disjointed, disconnected, and have not evolved to address the threats, the real solution can only be found in social change. Unfortunately, young people often turn to their peers instead of authority, and this can be a problem. In the case of the Islamic State, the recruiters come disguised as peers. Not only is education important, but enlightenment as well. The young people of the millennial generation are lost. Their prospects for gainful employment, even with education are bleak, and they are struggling to find the purpose to their lives while the elites in the establishment continue to make disastrous interventionist foreign policy which gave rise to the power of the Islamic State, and then pulled out the military force too soon, leaving a tremendous gap of power that ISIS was only too glad to fill up.